Chapter 18 "Venom in silk"
The Maybach’s engine purred like a panther as it rolled to a stop at the wrought-iron gates.
Morning sun glinted off the obsidian paint, turning the car into a moving shadow.
Students clustered on the stone steps froze mid-step when the back door opened.
Lucas stepped out first black coat open, white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the edge of his chest tattoo, scar slicing through his eyebrow like a warning.
He circled the car, opened Elena’s door himself, and offered his hand.
She took it.
The moment her Louboutin touched the pavement, the campus went still.
Elena wore a long black cashmere coat, cinched tight at the waist, the hem brushing mid-calf.
The slit climbed high enough to flash a glimpse of sheer black stocking and the lace edge of a garter when she moved.
Her hair fell in dark waves, wild and untamed, catching the wind.
Blood-red lips.
Diamonds at her throat and ears ,black diamonds, cold fire.
The choker Lucas had fastened around her neck two nights ago glittered like a collar of stars.
She looked like sin poured into silk.
Lucas pulled her flush against him, one hand sliding possessively to the small of her back, the other tangling in her hair.
He kissed her, slow, filthy, claiming.
Right there in front of everyone.
Phones lifted.
Gasps echoed.
He didn’t care.
When he finally released her lips, he kept his forehead against hers.
“Take care, ha?” His voice was low, lethal, meant only for her. “Anything feels off, anything at all, you call me. I’ll burn this place down and salt the earth.”
Elena’s smile was small, sharp, radiant.
“I will.”
She rose on her toes, pecked his lips once more soft, sweet, a promise, then turned and walked away.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Lucas watched until she disappeared, then slid back into the car.
The second the door shut, he hit the call button.
“Viktor. Every shadow. Every rooftop. Every fucking air vent. Tommaso is a ghost, and ghosts love schools. If he breathes near her, I want his lungs on my desk.”
Inside the campus, the air was crisp with pine and frost.
Elena’s boots clicked on the cobblestone path, coat flaring behind her like wings.
Heads turned.
Whispers followed.
She found Sriya near the fountain, wrapped in a cream sweater, nose pink from the cold.
“Hey, Sriya.”
Sriya spun, eyes widening.
Then she screamed and launched herself at Elena, arms crushing.
“Oh my God, I missed you! Where the hell have you been? You look like you walked out of a mafia movie!”
Elena laughed, hugging back just as tight.
“Personal stuff. I’m good now. Better than good.”
Sriya pulled back, scanning her from head to toe.
“You look like you could murder someone and make it look like art.”
Elena’s smile turned wicked.
“Funny you say that.”
They linked arms and started toward the lecture hall.
Sriya dropped her voice, eyes sparkling with gossip.
“Okay, but listen. There’s this new girl. Natasha Volkov. Tall, fake platinum blonde, daddy owns half the casinos in Moscow. She’s been telling everyone she’s Lucas Romeo’s girlfriend. Showed up with this tacky gold bracelet like it’s proof. I literally laughed in her face.”
Elena’s steps slowed.
The smile stayed on her lips, but the temperature around her dropped ten degrees.
Her fingers tightened on Sriya’s arm until the girl winced.
“Take me to her.”
They walked into the lecture theatre: vaulted ceilings, mahogany rows, morning light pouring through stained glass.
Conversation died the second Elena crossed the threshold.
At the front sat Natasha Volkov.
Platinum hair extensions, fake tan, lips over-lined.
She lounged across two seats, legs crossed, flashing the cheap gold bracelet like a trophy.
A circle of admirers hung on her every word.
Elena didn’t hesitate.
She walked down the aisle like she owned gravity itself.
The slit of her coat parted with every step, revealing sheer stockings and the glint of a dagger strapped to her thigh Lucas’s gift this morning, “just in case”.
Her perfume loud and black rose trailed behind her like smoke.
She stopped directly in front of Natasha.
The girl looked up.
Her smirk faltered when she saw who it was.
Elena tilted her head, voice soft as silk, sharp as glass.
“I heard you’ve been telling people you’re Lucas Romeo’s girlfriend.”
Natasha recovered, lifted her chin.
“And? He gave me this.” She flashed the bracelet.
“He doesn’t give jewellery to just anyone.”
Elena laughed low, lethal, the sound of a queen about to execute.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a black velvet box.
Snapped it open.
Inside: the black diamond choker, a fortune in cold fire, with a tiny platinum butterfly pendant dangling at the centre.
The same one Lucas had fastened around her throat while she was still trembling from the bodies he’d left cooling in the dungeon.
She let the room see it.
Let the silence stretch until it screamed.
“This,” Elena said, voice ringing clear through the entire hall, “is what Lucas Romeo gives the woman he owns.
You’re wearing a trinket he probably tossed to a stripper after one drink.
Touch what’s mine again, and I’ll wear your tongue as a necklace. Clear?”
Natasha’s face drained of color.
The bracelet suddenly looked like plastic.
Elena leaned in until their noses almost touched.
“Spread the word, darling. I’m Elena Romeo. His wife. His queen.
And I don’t share.”
She straightened, slid the choker back into its box, and turned on her heel.
Walked to the back row like nothing happened.
Dropped into her usual seat, crossed her legs, and opened her notebook.
Sriya collapsed beside her, mouth open.
“Holy fuck. Marry me.”
Elena just smirked, red lips curving like a blade.
“Sorry. Already taken.”
Across the city, Lucas’s phone buzzed.
Viktor:Queen just made the entire campus kneel. Video attached.
Lucas watched it twice.
Grinned like the devil who’d finally met his match.
Texted back:Good girl.
Pick her up at 3.
We’re celebrating tonight.
After college
The penthouse was a cathedral of glass and gold, thirty-three floors above the city, every pane reflecting a thousand glittering lies.
City lights bled across the marble floors like spilled champagne, cheap and desperate.
Natasha stood on the balcony, wind clawing at her platinum extensions, ripping strands loose like it wanted to tear her apart.
A cigarette trembled between her manicured fingers, ash falling unnoticed onto her silk robe.
Her cheek burned.
Not from the cold.
From the memory of Elena’s voice slicing through the lecture hall, from the laughter that had chased her out like a pack of wolves.
She could still feel the phantom sting of Elena’s palm though the bitch hadn’t even touched her.
It was worse.
Elena had branded her with words alone.
She crushed the cigarette under her Louboutin heel, grinding it slow, vicious, imagining bone and blood and that smug little smile.
“How dare you,” she hissed into the night, voice cracking with rage.
“How dare that filthy, cage-bred nobody humiliate me in front of everyone? I’ll teach you a lesson, you Russian gutter trash. I’ll make you bleed until you choke on it.”
Her phone vibrated on the marble railing, rattling like a trapped insect.
Unknown number.
She snatched it up, nails scraping glass.
“Who the fuck is this?”
A low, venomous chuckle slithered through the speaker, wet with pain and madness.
Tommaso Kane.
“You said you’d deliver Elena,” he snarled, voice ragged, like he’d been screaming into pillows for days.
“Where the fuck is she, you useless bitch?”
Natasha rolled her eyes so hard it hurt, lighting another cigarette with shaking fingers.
“What are you thinking, ha? That it’s easy? She’s got security tighter than a nun’s asshole now. Lucas’s dogs are everywhere. One wrong step and we’re both meat.”
Tommaso’s breathing turned feral, animal, glass shattering somewhere in the background.
“Do whatever the fuck you want. I want her. You whore. If you don’t deliver, I swear on my father’s flayed corpse, I’ll crawl out of this hole and”
Natasha cut him off, voice dropping to pure ice.
“Mr. Kane,” she purred, exhaling smoke like
dragon’s breath, “you can’t come out. You know that.
The second you show your pretty ruined face, Lucas will skin you alive, salt the wounds, and mail the pieces to whatever’s left of your mother’s grave. So don’t threaten me with your pathetic little tantrums.”
She leaned over the railing, wind whipping tears from her eyes that had nothing to do with the cold.
City lights reflected in her pupils like burning coals.
“And don’t worry,” she whispered, smile slow and vicious. “I want Lucas on his knees just as much as you do. I want Elena shattered. I want her screaming my name while she bleeds. Our deal is final.”
Tommaso’s laugh was wet, unhinged, the sound of a man who’d already lost everything and liked it.
“Good. Because the gala is in six days. You get her alone. I’ll handle the rest.”
Natasha’s lips curved, red as fresh blood.
“Six days,” she repeated, voice trembling with anticipation.
“She’ll be wearing my bruises under that pretty black dress… and your tears in her hair.”
She ended the call.
To be continued..